In Lust We Trust
by April7739
Summary: Set in Season 2, after Tess moves in. Kyle wants her.


**Title: In Lust We Trust**

**Author: April**

**Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They're just used for fun—a lot of fun—here and not for profit. Blah, blah, blah.**

**Summary: Set in Season 2, after Tess moves in. Kyle wants her.**

**Category: Lamptrimmer Canon, baby! Because it should have happened! (Kyle POV)**

**Rating: Mature**

**Author's Note: Written for the Roswell's Inferno challenge at Roswell Heaven, which requires you to use one of the 7 Deadly Sins as inspiration for a story. This one is, obviously, LUST.**

...

You have no idea how much I think about you. Sexual thoughts, to be exact. If you did, you wouldn't parade around the house in my jersey, because you'd know that you're tempting me. You'd know that my fingers are constantly itching to touch your skin, to lift up that jersey and see what's underneath.

I saw it once, saw _you_ once, in the shower. You didn't know I was there. _I _didn't even know I was there, for a minute. I thought it was just another perverted dream. I walked in on accident. I just wasn't thinking about what I was doing. And there you were, behind the glass door, the outline of your body fragmented but still perfectly visible. The curve of your breasts, the small of your back . . . I felt dumbfounded and awestruck and didn't want to look away.

That was the moment things changed for me, the moment you were no longer just the hot girl living in my house. Suddenly, you were the object of my every desire, the subject of every fantasy. Suddenly, you were the _only _thing I could think about, and that still hasn't changed. I'm starting to think it never will.

When we go to the grocery store and buy food, I think about how I could spread it all over your body. I imagine drizzling chocolate onto you and licking off every square inch, sometimes eliciting a giggle, other times, a scream.

When you sit next to me on the couch, watching TV, I contemplate sliding my hand over to your thigh, just to see if you'll allow me to slip it between your legs. And if you did, then I would lay you down, and I would move so that my head could be down there, too.

When you sleep in my bed at night, I lie out on the couch and jerk myself off, wishing it was your mouth instead of my hand. I've had girlfriends who have gone down on me before, but somehow, with you, I know it will be different. Better. You'll become the standard I'll compare every other woman, too. Because I know you. I know you're not just a vanilla girl. You'll get me off, and you'll swallow every last drop I pour into you, and you'll beg me for more, because that's the kind of thing you would love.

At least my fantasy version of you would. The real-life you is more complicated. The real-life you is convinced you belongs with someone else, with someone who's too busy _not_ noticing you to realize what an incredible roll in the hay you would be.

And maybe that's all it would be between us. A fuck-fest. The two of us, tangled up in that too-small bed of mine, sheets ripping, sweat dripping. Maybe that's all we would want. I could start out on top, take it nice and slow for your first time—which would technically be my first time, too, but I'll never admit that to you; I've got a reputation to uphold. Then, when you're ready for more, we could switch it up, and you could ride me. I could watch your breasts bounce, watch you sliding up and down on my cock, watch you throw your head back in ecstasy as you find that release you've only been able to discover with the help of your own fingers up until now.

I would make you forget your supposed soul-mate's name, because you'd be too busy screaming my own. I'd tell you to fuck me like he's watching.

I don't know what would happen after we're done. I could see you simply telling me how great it was before you hit the shower . . . alone. You're a bit of a tease like that. But I could also see me not letting you out of that bed. I think I would like to put my arms around you, maybe spoon up to you from behind, and just hold you for a while, because I doubt you've ever truly been held before.

I would skip telling you about Buddha's musings on physical contact, because that would kill the mood.

But then maybe this cuddling would lead to something more. Another night, another tryst. Or hell, it doesn't even have to be night. We could slip away at school. Everyone already thinks we're doing it anyway. Why not just go into the eraser room and prove the rumors true?

I tend to lose myself in these visions of what might be, what _could _be if you'd just trust me. Trust that I don't want to hurt you, because I know you've been hurt before. Trust that I'll hold your hand if that's what you need, but pull your hair if that's what you want. If you would trust that my feelings for you are very, very strong, then maybe you would find that you have some feelings for me, too.

It's not love. I know that. I'm seventeen. I'm not even looking for that right now.

It's the other one, the one that tends to focus on the physical side of things, the sex, the raw, carnal desire to have your body press against someone else's and know that, at least for that one moment, you're not alone, because you are one with another person.

I think that's called lust. And I'm feeling it.

I get my hopes up and think you might be feeling it, too. When you smile at me sometimes, you've got this flirty look in your eyes, like you want to take our teasing to the next level. When you buy more whipped cream at the store than we reasonably need, I wonder if it's because you have the same ideas I have. When you shower, just like you were that day when I walked in, I wonder if you wish I was in there with you, or if you knew I was there that day and just kept going because you _wanted _me to see. And maybe you wanted me to join you.

And maybe next time I will.

THE END


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